Sword of the Spellbreaker (The Songreaver's Tale series Book 5) by Hunter Andrew

Author:Hunter, Andrew [Hunter, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Published: 2015-12-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Will you leave me alone!” Haven screamed, swatting another fly and leaving yet another streak of her own blood smeared across her bare left arm. Her brown hair lay matted against her forehead, and her sleeveless shirt clung to her, damp with sweat in the stifling heat of the Gloaran swamp. “Why aren’t they biting you?” she demanded, giving Garrett a reproachful glare.

“I guess they like your flavor better,” Garrett said with a shrug. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, but his robe was already soaked through. He didn’t feel hot, despite the fact that he was dripping with perspiration, but then he realized that it wasn’t sweat after all. It was condensation, like the beads of dew that formed on the window glass on a cold winter morning.

The damp heat of the swamp tormented the group pitilessly. Only the zombies and the Neshite tribesmen seemed unaffected by it. Perhaps the ghouls suffered the worst, and even Lady Ymowyn had been driven to more than one snarling retort by the slightest provocation. Garrett had been forced to separate Diggs and Scupp to opposite ends of the marching column, if it could even still be called a column.

They followed Terrick’s lead, winding a snakelike path between the great stinking pools of stagnant water. Again and again, they were forced to turn and backtrack from one dead end after another. By the time the noonday sun began to lance through the canopy above, even the long-suffering shaman had had enough.

“The spirits of this place mock me!” Terrick shouted hoarsely as he stood, knee-deep in black mud.

Garrett rode forward on his panting direwolf. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Terrick turned to him with a hopeless expression on his tattooed face. “The water does not flow here, Garrett!” he cried, “It is like a sickness… dead voices whispering… always whispering but saying nothing!”

Garrett looked at Carak and Radda, the two Neshite hunters who had taken advantage of the pause to slump in defeat against the vine-strangled trees. Even these lean jungle warriors seemed dismayed by the rigors of the swamp.

Garrett wiped the moisture from his face again and sighed. “We’ll make camp and wait ‘till night comes to go on.”

Terrick shook his head. “I will not be able to guide you in the dark,” he protested.

“The ghouls can lead us at night,” Garrett said, “It’s how we got through the swamp before.”

Terrick nodded and began the slow process of extricating himself from the mud with the help of his two tribesmen.

Garrett rode back to find the others slumped against trees and mopping their brows as well. Only the undead stood motionless.

The three fairies were lying facedown on a mound of damp leaves, trying to fan themselves with their wings.

“Set up camp here,” Garrett called out, “We’ll move out when it’s cooled off a bit later.”

“You mean next winter?” Warren moaned.

“Tonight,” Garrett said, “I want you to lead us then, Warren.”

Warren’s ears perked up. “We gonna travel at night now?” he asked.

“If you think we can,” Garrett said.

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